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‘What do you know about Danny Cain?’ Temple asked.

‘He’s a nice man,’ she said. ‘A family man.’

‘Has he or his wife got any relatives in this area? Parents or siblings?’

‘I think Danny’s wife has a mother who lives close by. I don’t know where.’

A few beats of silence. Jennifer seemed to shrink further into the chair under the weight of her grief.

‘Did you talk to Mr Mayo at any point after you left the cottage?’ Temple asked.

‘I wish I had,’ she said. ‘I tried calling him when I got home, just before I went to bed. I wanted to say goodnight. But there was no answer on his mobile or landline.’

‘Did that not worry you?’

‘Not really. I assumed he was either in bed or had gone to one of the casinos in town. He often did that when he wasn’t with me.’

‘Did it occur to you that he might have a problem if the man who’d been threatening him was going to his home?’

‘He didn’t seem worried about it. In fact he told me that Dessler was happy to get at least some of his money back. Plus I heard them talking on the phone. It was fairly amicable. Vince was sure there wouldn’t be any trouble.’ She paused there, took a breath and then her jaw dropped. ‘Oh, my God, do you think Dessler killed Vince? Is that what you think?’

‘We have no idea, Miss Priest,’ Temple said. ‘At the moment there’s no evidence to suggest that he did but we will be talking to him. By the way, do you know if Mr Mayo kept any valuables in the cottage? Something that might be of interest to thieves?’

She shook her head. ‘He sold off everything of value to pay for his gambling, except for his mother’s jewellery, that is. He told me he would never part with that.’

‘How much jewellery?’

‘I’m not sure exactly. He kept it in a leather jewellery box in his bedside drawer. I told him he should put it in a safer place but he said he wanted it close to him for sentimental reasons.’

‘Can you describe what was in the box?’

‘He showed me once but it’s all a bit vague now. There were some necklaces and a couple of brooches. That sort of thing. He said he’d had them valued and they were worth a tidy sum. Thousands of pounds, in fact.’

‘And there was nothing else of value as far as you know?’

‘There was the cash.’

‘Cash?’

‘The money for Dessler. Vince left it on the worktop in the kitchen. All in notes.’

‘How much?’

‘Three thousand pounds.’

Temple turned to Priest. ‘There was no money in the kitchen. I checked the worktop myself.’

‘So whoever killed Vince must have taken it.’

‘Looks that way.’

At that point Jennifer lost it again and started to cry into a wad of tissues.

Her father squeezed her shoulders. ‘Let’s leave it at that, Jeff. My daughter’s not going anywhere, so she can answer more questions later. I’ll stay here with her for now and call you if she thinks of anything that might help the investigation.’

‘Fair enough,’ Temple said. He put his notebook away and got to his feet.

Jennifer held up her hands and forced herself to stop crying.

‘There’s something else you should know,’ she said. ‘I just
remembered
. It might not be relevant, but I think you ought to know.’

She swallowed. Breathed through her mouth. Swallowed again.

‘Just over a week ago I saw a man watching the cottage,’ she said. ‘It was early evening and he was standing on the edge of the wood out back. He had binoculars.’

‘Are you sure?’ Temple said.

She nodded. ‘I only saw him because I was upstairs in Vince’s study and happened to look out of the window. He was standing next to a tree, staring at the cottage. I watched him for about a minute and then rushed downstairs to tell Vince. But when Vince went outside there was no sign of the man.’

‘When exactly was this, Miss Priest?’

She looked up at the ceiling, searching her memory through the fog of grief and shock. ‘The Friday before last, about four o’clock. I know because it was almost dark and I’d just arrived at the cottage having left work early.’

‘Can you describe this man?’

‘Not in detail,’ she said. ‘But he had a shaved head and ears that poked out. He was wearing a sheepskin coat. I remember that much. If I saw him again I’d recognize him.’

‘How old?’

‘In his thirties maybe.’

‘Anything else you can tell us? Was he tall or short, fat or thin?’

She shrugged. ‘Normal height, I think. It was difficult to tell.’

‘I don’t understand, Jen,’ Priest said. ‘Why didn’t you mention this to me? I’m a policeman, for Christ’s sake, as well as being your father.’

‘I didn’t think, Dad. Vince said not to worry about it so I didn’t. I’m sorry.’

Priest shook his head, clearly put out, but anxious at the same time not to add to his daughter’s anguish by making a deal of it.

‘Did Mr Mayo have any idea who the man might be?’ Temple asked.

She shook her head. ‘He wasn’t familiar with anyone who looked like the description I gave.’

‘I’d like you to help us produce a photofit,’ Temple said. ‘Would that be all right?’

She nodded.

‘I’ll get it sorted then.’ Temple looked at his watch. ‘I’d better go now. But before I do there’s one last question, Miss Priest. Have you any idea why Mr Mayo might have opened a bottle of champagne last night?’

She looked at him, puzzled.

‘No, not at all. Why do you ask?’

‘Well, there was a bottle in the kitchen. It’d been opened, but it didn’t look as though any of it had been drunk.’

‘Well, he didn’t open it before I left. And I can’t imagine what he might have had to celebrate.’

Priest showed Temple out. At the door, Priest said, ‘Dessler has to be a prime suspect. I want you to find him now and grill the bastard.’

‘I intend to, sir.’

‘And pull out all the stops. I don’t care what it costs. Use as many bodies as you need to. I’ll sanction any overtime.’

‘That’s good to know, sir.’

Priest clapped Temple on the back. ‘Now get out there and find the bastard who just screwed up my daughter’s life.’ 

H
alf an hour after the youths attacked me I was still wandering aimlessly around the city centre. It had taken me five minutes to haul myself to my feet back at the Bargate. My legs still felt like jelly. My head swayed violently and a deluge of vomit had burned its way up through my gullet. I was bruised and bleeding and shaking all over.

I passed a few people, most of them boozed-up youngsters, but they barely seemed to notice me. I got a few strange looks, giggles from a group of drunken girls. Their reaction – or lack of it – was both shocking and sad, but at the same time I welcomed being left alone. I needed to move and to think.

Things had now gone from bad to worse. The kidnapper had no way of contacting me. The lifeline to my family was severed. I had no idea what Maggie’s mobile number was. I’d never had to
memorize
it. So what would happen now? How would he respond when he failed to get through?

Pain gnawed at my bones. I must have looked like a wino who had been rolled over for his last cigarette. A huge swelling had come up on my forehead. Blood trickled down my left cheek. My ribs hurt and my muscles throbbed.

How in God’s name had it come to this? In a matter of hours the life I’d known and loved had been shattered like a beach-hut in a tsunami.

The sheer gravity of the situation was overwhelming. As I hobbled along the empty streets, wincing with pain, the drumming of despair inside my head grew into a deafening crescendo.

The reporter inside me yearned to know what was going on. The events of the past few hours made for a cracking story. But my
journalistic
 
curiosity was tempered by the fear that curdled in my stomach. I just didn’t know what to do or where to go.

Alongside the fear there was guilt. I felt that I’d let Maggie and Laura down, just as I had done too often in the past. They would be counting on me to hold it together. But I’d failed, and now it was likely they’d pay a terrible price.

I turned down a side street leading towards the docks. There were warehouses along one side, derelict shops and offices along the other. It seemed colder here and even less friendly. Weeds reared up through gaping cracks in the pavements. I heard creatures scurrying in the shadows. The air smelled of motor oil and rotting fish.

I came to a junction and looked to the left before stepping into the road. And that was when I saw the police car. It was about fifty yards away and parked at the kerb under a streetlight.

Maggie’s words rang in my ears. She’d pleaded with me not to involve the cops. The kidnapper had warned me that if I did then he would kill my family. But what choice did I have? I needed help now and I needed to act quickly. So I broke into a run. And as I ran my head started to clear and I forgot about the aches and pains that racked my body.

I was about to share my terrible burden and that at least would surely bring me some relief.

Maggie was listening for any sounds. But all she could hear was the wind whistling through the eaves above her.

The kidnapper had disappeared downstairs straight after he called Danny. Minutes later she heard a car start up outside and since then there had been silence.

Thankfully Laura had fallen asleep whilst gibbering away to Max. The man had given them four smelly blankets and Laura was curled up beneath two of them. She had whispered to her invisible friend for almost half an hour before eventually dropping off. She told Max she was scared but that her father would soon be here to save them and sort out the nasty man in the funny mask.

Maggie wasn’t able to sleep. Her mind was a maelstrom of ugly thoughts and images. The fear was like a living thing inside her.
Every time she was distracted by something it moved, wrenching her back to the horrible reality of the situation.

A while ago she had urinated and the warm liquid had filled her knickers and stained the front of her jeans. She actually welcomed the sensation because briefly a small part of her didn’t feel so cold.

She sat with her knees pulled up in front of her, covered by the other two blankets, her head against the wall. She kept telling herself that Danny would be with them soon and the man would go and get the lottery money. Then they’d be set free to resume their lives.

The trouble was she didn’t believe it. She knew that once the man submitted Vince’s lottery ticket he’d have to decide what to do with them, if he hadn’t already made up his mind. And that was where it got scary.

It was likely that she, Danny and the kidnapper were the only people who knew about the ticket. Once Danny was safely ensconced in the loft the kidnapper could claim the winnings and nobody else would know the truth.

But of course he might not get to spend any of the money if he let them go. So it followed that he would almost certainly murder them all, just like he’d murdered Vince.

Danny, then, was their only hope, but this thought served only to increase her sense of despair. Her husband was no Bruce Willis. He was fit and intelligent, but he wasn’t a man of action. He wouldn’t, therefore, come bounding to their rescue like a movie-star hero. In fact he would probably mess things up. Just as he’d messed up their lives by losing his job. And then by sinking their savings into a stupid freelance news agency that was going nowhere and would eventually disappear without trace.

So how would he disappoint this time? she wondered. Despite what he’d said on the phone she was pretty sure that he’d panic and alert the police. And that would be disastrous. Maggie tried but failed to hold back a flood of tears. The tide of emotion she
experienced
was overwhelming. A mixture of fear, despair, frustration, anger and grief for Vince. But there was also a great deal of guilt. And it struck her suddenly that she was trying to assuage that guilt by blaming Danny.

But he wasn’t responsible for what was happening. She realized that now. If anyone was to blame it was she. She was the one who had stepped over the line five months ago. What she had done was unforgivable and she should have known that it would end in disaster.

This was payback time. Divine retribution. The terrible
consequence
of her own selfish actions.

Vince was dead and the lives of her husband and daughter were now at risk.

And Maggie was convinced that she was to blame.

Please God
, she whispered through a deluge of hot tears.
Please forgive me for what I’ve done and don’t make my family suffer because of it.

I was about twenty yards from the police car when I came to a sudden stop. I stared in amazement.

In the sodium glow from a nearby street lamp I could see the two feral youths who had mugged me. The bastards who had my phone. They were being questioned by a couple of policemen in luminous jackets.

My heart pumped and my mouth dried up.

I moved to the left behind a pillar box, from where I watched and listened. It was a typical late-night scene, as depicted in scores of reality cop shows; part of the fight against street crime where
suspicious
youths are stopped and searched, and often arrested.

I strained to hear what was being said, but I was too far away and I didn’t dare move closer for fear of being seen.

The youths were probably being asked to account for their
movements
. Where were they going? Where had they been? Were they carrying knives or drugs?

I was debating whether to approach the group when the two
officers
got back in the car.

Decision time. Should I break cover and catch the cops before they drove away? Or should I go for it alone and try to retrieve the
situation
? What course of action offered the best odds of saving my family?

The police car’s engine turned over. I started to move forward – and then held back. Decision made.

The patrol car drove off, leaving the youths on the pavement. One of them lit up a cigarette before they both started walking along the street away from me.

My mind whirred and my pulse raced. Needless to say I didn’t have a plan. I just had an objective which was to get my phone back. And right now that seemed like an impossible task.

I knew I had to act pretty quickly. If I followed them for any length of time I’d be spotted. The streets were more or less deserted and in this part of town they were fairly well lit.

These were two hulking lads who could handle themselves. I knew that from personal experience. So how was I meant to prise the phone away from them? Diplomacy was out of the question. Approaching them would invite another beating. No, there was only one thing for it. I was going to have to jump them and hope that the element of surprise would give me an advantage.

I’m not a violent person. In fact I had not been involved in fisticuffs since leaving school. But right now I had no choice. Not if I wanted to see my wife and daughter again.

I watched from the shadows as the two youths turned a corner. I broke into a trot to catch up. I needed a weapon of some kind because without one I wouldn’t stand a chance. These guys were serious hardcases. They knew how to fight. I didn’t.

I reached the corner and stopped to check their whereabouts. They were still walking at a casual pace, chatting to one another like two innocents out enjoying a late evening stroll. The anger welled up inside me.

I knew the area they were heading into: St Mary’s. The most insalubrious district of Southampton. Here buildings were run down and shops boarded up. Pavements were busted. Everything was ugly and tainted with neglect. Even the graffiti was poor quality. Crude rather than artistic. An air of desperation hung over the area like a toxic cloud.

The pair crossed a road towards an estate of high-rise council flats. I came up behind a builder’s skip that was jutting out on to the pavement from between two empty buildings. A pile of rubble inside the skip contained bricks, chunks of wood and slabs of
plasterboard
.
I peered more closely, looking for something to use as a weapon.

And it didn’t take me long to spot it. An iron bar poking out of the debris.

I reached up, stretched out, managed to get a purchase on the exposed end, jerking it free. The bar was about four feet long, three inches in diameter. It was hard and heavy and more than capable of cracking open a skull. Or two.

Having a weapon bolstered my confidence. Gripping it tightly in my right hand I shuffled across the road and started to close the gap. The youths hadn’t yet bothered to look behind them. I prayed that they wouldn’t choose this moment to do so. They stepped on to a path that would take them across a patch of dead grass to one of the blocks of flats. There was no one else around. I quickened my pace, then bolted towards them. They heard me when I was about six yards away and they both turned, as though sensing a threat. I was psyched up by this time, the fury in me having gathered power and momentum.

‘Who the fuck…?’

That was all one of them managed to say before I was on top of them, yelling like a maniac and flailing the bar wildly at their heads.

A crack of bone. A pitiful cry as the first blow struck one of them full in the face. The other youth ducked but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the downward thrust of my arm. The bar made contact with the back of his skull. He let out a yelp as he fell to the ground.

I turned my attention back to the other one. He was on his feet still, but disoriented. He was holding his face in his hands and moaning. So this time I took aim at his knees and gave them an almighty wallop. The moaning turned into a full throttle scream and he keeled over.

Back to yob number two, and by now I was in my stride and eager to vent my anger and frustration on these two scumbags. A kind of madness, bred of desperation, had come over me. I whacked him across the head and neck and then shoved one end of the bar into his face.

And I didn’t let up for at least half a minute, giving neither youth time to retaliate.

Blood spattered all over the pathway. Some of it sprayed across my face and clothes.

When it became obvious that they were no longer a threat, I dropped the bar on to the ground and started going through their pockets.

It was strange, because I felt totally calm. Sure, I was hot, sweaty and gasping for breath, but at the same time I didn’t feel like I had done anything wrong. In fact I was feeling what I can only describe as a deep sense of elation.

And this feeling reached a new level when I found my phone in one of the pockets. I checked it quickly. No missed calls, thank God. I didn’t find my wallet but that had probably been dumped soon after they swiped it.

I stood up and took one last look at the youths, who were both struggling to haul up their battered bodies. I felt the urge to inflict more pain but decided there was no time. Instead, I turned and ran towards the road.